


darling you're the highlight of my life

by cardaisy



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Teasing, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardaisy/pseuds/cardaisy
Summary: It was later in the evening, as we sat by the fire in silent contemplation, that Holmes would remind me of it again. I was sat reading a book, which I had picked up weeks before and had not yet finished, as I so rarely found myself with enough time to read it between my practice and my adventures with Holmes. The very man in question was sitting across from me, smoke billowing from his pipe, as he regarded me with mild interest. I was staunchly ignoring his gaze, trying to focus on the words on the page and failing. With a small sigh, I placed the book aside and stood up, turning away from Holmes under the guise of stoking the fire. As I placed the fire poker back in its home, and turned around to face him, Holmes finally spoke up.“Darling, would you mind pouring me a drink?” His tone was light, and his gaze fell upon me nonchalantly, as if this were a normal request from him.Well, it was a normal request, it was the wording of it that had thrown me off. I blinked a few times, wondered if I had imagined the term of endearment, and repeated his request.Watson accidentally calls Holmes dear and Holmes finds it very amusing.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 187





	darling you're the highlight of my life

**Author's Note:**

> my work's teleworking system is down, so i guess this is my job now - enjoy!
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://plasticonobandana.tumblr.com/)

I must admit that it would be a bit of an understatement to say that Holmes and I had grown accustomed to our living situation. I might even go as far to say that, at some point early on, we had settled into a simple domesticity that might have garnered some more suspicion from our friends and colleagues if it had not been for Holmes’ other peculiarities. It was not, however, until several months into our cohabitation that, by a simple slip of the tongue, I realised exactly the way I felt about my companion. It goes without saying, that at this point I recognised the warm sense of admiration and familiarity that I felt around Holmes, but simply chalked it up to our close friendship and working relationship. It was a steady and ever growing affection, of the like that I had not experienced before, and gladly welcomed it into my day to day life. It was in that way, one morning, that I found myself pleasantly enjoying my breakfast and reading the morning paper, while Holmes prattled on about the current case. I am always listening when he speaks, but I will concede that I like to pride myself on being a fairly apt multitasker. 

“So you see, Watson,” he was saying, while pacing around the room, hands steepled in front of his chest. “I believe there is something still hidden from me in this matter, I have collected the data and now considering it all at once I do think that there is a piece being concealed from…” 

I was currently reading an article about a robbery that had taken place at a curio shop not three blocks from the location of the crime under Holmes’ scrutiny. I was quickly ascertaining the details of the event, as they sounded oddly similar to the current case, and was trying to find an opportune moment to bring it up to him. There was a slight lull in his never-ending monologue, and I thought this my chance to butt in.

“Holmes, listen to th-”

“No no, I do think it might be, no I daresay it is entirely essential that we pay Mrs. Taylor another visit, perhaps this time without her husband present.”

“Now hold on a min-”

“Watson! I’ll hail us a cab and we can be on our way, do finish up with your breakfast - quickly!” I bristled at him for dismissing me now twice in a row, and somewhat angrily put the newspaper down on the table, jostling my cup of tea in the process. 

“If you would just listen to me for a moment, dear, you would know there might be other avenues to pursue in this matter.” Holmes was just at the door as I spoke, and he froze in an instant. There were a good few moments of silence as I realised what I had blurted out, and a great flush of heat crept up onto my neck and cheeks. Holmes then suddenly turned on his heel to face me, a slight smirk on his face, clearly very amused at the current situation.

“And what, praytell, might that be?” 

I let out a little huff, grabbed the paper off the table, it was now slightly crumpled and maybe a little damp, and read the article of interest outloud to him. When I was done, Holmes had a thoughtful look on his face. He then nodded once, turned again, and as he exited the room called out to me, “Five minutes, Watson!”

\--

To my great dismay I was entirely wrong about the curio shop being connected to our current case, and it was while I was trying not to sulk about this fact that some odd detail, that was of no note to anyone else, had suddenly revealed itself to Holmes, and he had at once jumped up and was proclaiming that he had finally pieced it together. I’ve made it clear that I hold a great deal of affection for the man, and when he is in a good mood, I can’t help but also be happy. 

It was still though, at the back of my mind, that I was replaying the scene from this morning over and over again. Holmes had obviously garnered something from my outburst, but I had no idea what conclusion he had come to. To be frank, I wasn’t even sure of my own conclusion on the matter. Well, _no_ , if I was being honest with myself, I knew exactly what had happened. This strange, steady, and strong affection that I felt for Holmes had slowly grown larger and larger over the months, and I had failed, until this moment, to properly comprehend what it signalled. I don’t think that I have ever loved a man before, but I also don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone in the way that I love Holmes. Previous flirtations with women had been solely that: short and sweet, merely a fleeting moment of attraction, whereas _this_ love I felt deep in my soul, something that was slow burning, but ever constant and growing. 

I felt slightly nauseous. Had Holmes deduced this? Was my comment this morning enough to reveal myself to him? It mortified me to not know his thoughts, but I would not even entertain the idea of bringing it up to him. Aside from my disappointment at being incorrect about the curio shop, it had been a good day, almost indistinguishable from any other day with Holmes, with absolutely no mention of my indiscretion this morning. No, he had seemingly dismissed it as nothing more than a meaningless slip of the tongue, and I would try to put it behind me as he had obviously done. 

For the second time that day, I was incorrect in my assumptions. 

It was later in the evening, as we sat by the fire in silent contemplation, that Holmes would remind me of it again. I was sat reading a book, which I had picked up weeks before and had not yet finished, as I so rarely found myself with enough time to read it between my practice and my adventures with Holmes. The very man in question was sitting across from me, smoke billowing from his pipe, as he regarded me with mild interest. I was staunchly ignoring his gaze, trying to focus on the words on the page and failing. With a small sigh, I placed the book aside and stood up, turning away from Holmes under the guise of stoking the fire. As I placed the fire poker back in its home, and turned around to face him, Holmes finally spoke up.

“Darling, would you mind pouring me a drink?” His tone was light, and his gaze fell upon me nonchalantly, as if this were a normal request from him. _Well_ , it was a normal request, it was the wording of it that had thrown me off. I blinked a few times, wondered if I had imagined the term of endearment, and repeated his request.

“A drink?”

“If it’s no trouble, dear.” There it was again, and now my bewilderment changed to absolute embarrassment, as my face, I can only assume, turned a bright red. Without comment, I turned and did as he had asked, pouring myself a generous glass as well. As I handed him his drink, his hand lingered on mine for a moment too long, and afterwards I stood there stiffly as he took a sip and looked innocently up at me. 

Tired from the day, and feeling a whirl of emotions begin to build up inside me, I quickly gulped down my own glass, swept my book up from where it lay on the arm of the chair, and bid him goodnight before I could do or say something stupid. He peered at me curiously as I did so, and smiled a small “good night” to my parting form. 

\--

For some odd reason, Holmes continued in his, what I can only describe to be, incessant teasing about my unfortunate slip up. I had never considered him a cruel man, but was seriously reconsidering my evaluation of him in this regard, because why else would he find so much amusement in continuously tormenting me? The only silver lining to his teasing was that I felt I could confidently assume that he had not taken my use of “dear” as serious, but rather as an insignificant mistake that was endlessly humorous to him. 

It had been nearly two weeks since it had happened, and we were currently in the flat of the late Rupert Hartwright, a university student who had recently met his untimely end. The case had perplexed the police and earlier that morning Inspector Lestrade had arrived upon our doorstep to ask that Holmes come to look and provide his expert opinion. It was during his investigation of the room, while Lestrade was occupied speaking to another police officer, that Holmes arose from where he had been examining the hardwood and spoke to me in a low and secretive tone.

“Sweetheart, will you hold this for me?” There was a slight twinkle in his eye - the wretched man! - and I knew he was silently laughing at having caught me off guard. I faltered for a moment, and quickly shot my gaze over to where Lestrade and the other officer were standing. They did not appear to have heard anything, and continued on in their conversation without notice of us. 

Ignoring my hesitation, Holmes pushed the object he had found into my hand. It was a small piece of torn fabric, which appeared to have come from a woman’s dress. Upon looking at where Holmes had been kneeling, I noticed that a nail on the uneven flooring was slightly raised and noted that it must have caught on that when the lady in question walked across the floor. 

Holmes continued on in his investigation, but he still had that amused and self-satisfied look about him. I scowled in response and averted my gaze. Up until this point, his gibing had always been in private, and it had irritated me, but I allowed it to continue because, well, for lack of a better reason, part of me also enjoyed it. But now? Right in front of Lestrade, where he could have overheard him and gotten the wrong impression? I very much wanted to argue with Holmes about it, but knew that if I did make such a scene Lestrade would expect some sort of explanation. Instead I tried to school my expression, and when Lestrade did ask me what the matter was, I simply waved his question away and made a comment about not sleeping very well the night before. 

The events that followed were a whirlwind of rushing from location to location, from the coffeehouse Hartwright frequented, to a dressmaker’s shop, back to Baker Street to deliberate and onwards. I had originally made a note to myself to confront Holmes about putting an end to his useless teasing, but by the end of the day I was quite exhausted and the thought had long since left my mind. 

We had learned many things throughout the day. Mainly that Hartwright had been seeing a young woman named Caroline, who had indeed visited him that night, and was ostensibly the last person to see him alive. The entirety of the situation was still not clear, and while Lestrade was willing to believe that sweet Caroline had been the one to perpetrate the crime, Holmes and I were far less convinced. Now it was simply a matter of Holmes uncovering some more of the truth and being able to sort the whole mess out.

We both sat in the sitting room, and, roles reversed from that first night, I let myself examine Holmes as he relaxed across from me. He looked comfortable, sat leaning back into his chair with his hands clasped in front of him, his head tilted backwards, eyes closed ever so slightly. 

“Dearest, can you read back the notes you’ve taken?” I stiffened at his question, and did not respond. Several thoughts burst into my head at once. At first I was reminded of his earlier comment, back at Hartwright’s flat, and how I had made a mental note to speak to him about the matter. A flash of anger quickly rose up inside of me, and I wanted to rebuke him, but… There was something about his tone that gave me pause. He had said it so softly, almost completely offhandedly, and without a note of humour in his voice. A surge of affection tried to take over the irritation that I was feeling, and in the end I was left quite confused with how to react. 

“Watson?” Holmes continued when he didn’t receive a response from me, and he opened his eyes, sitting up slightly and giving me a confused look. I let out a great sigh, standing from my chair and walked over to the table where I had placed my notebook. His gaze followed me as I walked across the room and back in front of my chair, where I remained standing, facing him. 

Neither of us spoke again for quite a long time, and when I finally did, I found that most of my anger had dissipated. 

“Holmes… why must you continue to do that?” Instead of responding he simply raised an eyebrow, as if asking me to elaborate. “The mocking me, for, I will admit, a silly mistake, but one I made weeks ago. I’ve humoured you, but I’d like it to stop now.” 

He frowned slightly, brow furrowing as if he were thinking deeply about a case or some other problem. Then, after a while, “I did not know it bothered you.” 

I balked a little at this response, my anger returning. “Did not - !” I huffed. “You - you’ve been reminding me of it and making jabs whenever you’ve had the chance! And on top of it today, in front of Lestrade - ! I never thought you to be so careless!” Holmes rose from his chair at that, obviously taking umbrage with what I had said, his eyes flashing at me. 

“Careless?” He guffawed. “You obviously have less faith in me and much more faith in the dear Inspector than I thought!” For a moment he paused, as if searching my face for something, and his expression softened. “And I was not… _making jabs_ at you as you so put it,” he turned his head from mine for a moment, “I thought it more of a shared… indulgence.” His eyes met mine again and he continued, “Obviously I was wrong.”

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “A… a what?” _A shared indulgence_ , was exactly how he had put it, but what on earth did he mean by that? Perhaps it would be better to say that my mind was not racing, but completely blank. My hand that had been holding the notebook went slack and I heard it drop onto the floor with a very faint “thud”. Holmes caught the expression on my face and seemed to make up his mind about something. He took a step toward me and I sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Ah. Perhaps I will lay out the facts.” He proceeded, and a small bit of that smugness I knew so well returned to his voice. “That morning when you, how did you put it? ‘Made that silly mistake’, I’ll admit I was at first taken aback, but I had interpreted it, based on the surrounding facts, to have been both a slip of the tongue and an entirely genuine remark.” He paused and gave me a inquiring look. I slowly nodded in response, both confirming his assumption, and urging him to continue. “From that point, dear, whenever I made a similar remark, I thought we were partaking in a shared secret. But… I see now that that’s not how you saw it. I most certainly though, did not, at any point, mean it as a way to - what? Mock you for revealing your true feelings to me?” He tutted a bit at that, and I shook my head. 

“I never thought you that cruel, Holmes. I didn’t think you understood why I had said it, and… had simply found it amusing.” 

“Well that was indeed very silly of you.” At this I took a step toward him, and we were now standing very close to one another. Holmes smiled, broad and genuine, and contentedly said, “ _Darling_ ,” before closing the gap between us and kissing me gently on the lips. I let out a happy sigh and kissed him back, quickly reaching up to cradle his face between my hands, and feeling far happier than I could ever remember being.


End file.
